Here's looking at you kid
by A-Karana
Summary: A body is found at the embassy in Rabat, so Booth and Brennan fly to Morocco to investigate. While the case gets more complicated, Booth and Brennan get closer and closer...
1. Prologue

The story that had me writing like a maniac for a while... Emily Deschanel mentioned in an interview she would love to shoot in Morocco. I can't make that happen since I own NOTHING, but I can give us a Fanfiction episode abut that.

Thanks to Kay for the beta!

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**Here's Looking at You, Kid**

**Prologue**

**Monday 11/9/08, Jeffersonian Institute, 7:30 a.m.**

"Pack your bags, Bones, we have a new case," Booth announced as he stormed into his partner's office.

"Why do I need to pack my bags simply because we have a new case?" she asked, looking up from her computer.

"Because we are going on a trip to Morocco. So pack some skirts and your bikini and let's go," he grinned and for the first time, she noticed the travel bag he was carrying.

"You know, Booth, it would be highly inappropriate for me to walk around in a bikini in a Muslim country. In Saudi Arabia I would be thrown into prison for that," she informed him.

"Oh, come on! Trips to the desert, camel rides, the beach…Sounds like fun to me!" he insisted. He tapped her shoulder lightly with his fist as she walked past him to the couch where her bag lay.

"You obviously know nothing about Morocco," she said as she shook her head lightly and slung her bag over her shoulders.

"I saw _Casablanca_ several times," he shrugged.

"So you've already been to Morocco?" she asked, her brow wrinkled in confusion.

"The movie, Bones, the movie. 'Here's looking at you, kid,'" he quoted in his best Humphrey Bogart voice, which was lost on Brennan.

"Don't call me kid. And that didn't even make sense," she told him. His shoulders slumped in defeat. She really had to watch more movies. "So come on, let's go then. I still have to pack,' she said as she ushered him out of her office.

**American Airways Flight 7265 to Casablanca, 2:00 a.m. (EST)**

"Are you awake so you can finally tell me what this is about? I hate not knowing what to expect," Brennan complained, pulling the sleeping mask off Booth's eyes.

"Jeez, Bones, let me sleep! We've been on this damn plane for ten hours and I don't think we will get much sleep once we land because it will be five in the morning," Booth grumbled. He tried to pull the mask back down, but Brennan grasped it and held it against his forehead.

"Tell me first. Then you can sleep," she insisted sternly.

He sighed and summed up what he knew. "Okay, okay. The American Embassy in Rabat decided to build a new office wing after last winter's mold infestation. They found a body when they started digging and since the body is on embassy property, the government wants you to examine it. The authorities in Morocco are pretty pissed because our people refused to hand over the body or let them in on the crime scene."

"Then what are you doing here?" she asked him.

"I am here to protect you and your equipment, which, as you know, belongs to the FBI." He smirked at her and pulled the mask back down over his eyes, but she yanked it back up a second later.

"Why didn't they ask me if I wanted to work this case? You just stormed into my office and told me we had a case, which is a lie. You don't have a case," she said, her forehead wrinkled.

"My job is to protect you. And if the body turns out to be that of a U.S. citizen, I _will_ have a case," he insisted, sliding the mask back down again.

Brennan relaxed in her seat for a moment, but then something occurred to her and she ripped Booth's mask off one more time. "Technically, you don't have a case yet. You just wanted to go to Morocco," she pointed out, ignoring his unnerved expression.

"Bones, just let me sleep," he pleaded, pulling the mask back down one last time.

"I just thought I should point out the facts," she shrugged and finally leaned back in her seat to let him sleep.

**Rabat, Morocco, American Embassy, 9:00 a.m. (EST)**

"The remains are over here, Dr. Brennan. One of the workers' shovels hit something hard as they were digging. Since the ground here is basically sand, they were understandably surprised. They saw the skull and called security right away. After we talked to you this morning, we arranged everything so you could look at the whole body, but it's not pretty," the embassy official told her as he led Booth and Brennan through the building and out to the garden.

"She's used to not pretty. This house, though, is amazing," Booth replied admiringly, turning around to look at the old villa.

"Yes," he agreed. "It's an old French villa. They are all over town. You should see the new ones out in Hay Riad or Souissi, though. They are amazing!" He stopped in front of a huge hole in the middle of an extensive palm tree-framed garden. Brennan jumped into the pit.

"Whoa, Bones, careful! Don't want you to end up with a broken neck while I'm responsible for you. When we're through here, you can do whatever you want," Booth joked as he followed her. He had expected a skeleton but was now confronted with a body. There wasn't much tissue left, but nevertheless, it was not what he had expected. Brennan crouched down beside it to take a closer look. Without thinking, he poised his pen over a notepad, knowing that in a moment she would tell him what she was thinking.

"Female, between 35 and 40 years old, Caucasian, dead for approximately six months. She's had several cosmetic surgeries on her face," she said as she stood up and turned to face Booth. "Her neck is broken and her skull is fractured," she told him.

"Add to that the fact that she's buried in a garden at the American Embassy and you've got a homicide. Seems like I have a case after all," he replied, wiggling his eyebrows.

"I need the body and some of the soil around it shipped to the Jeffersonian. Are we staying here?" she asked, looking around.

"Yup, welcome to _1001_ _Nights_, Dr. Brennan," Booth grinned as he rolled up his sleeves. He had work to do. They had a case.

_Insert music with the intro here_

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	2. The woman who fell

First and most importantly: Thanks to Kay for betaing and thanks for the reviews! I am bad at replying to reviews because I am always feeling dumb just writing "Thank you". The more detailed a review is the easier for me to reply.

Then, because this is getting important now, I'd like to say that I am neither a forensic anthropologist, a doctor nor anyone else who knows some medical stuff. I did research, I hope that I used correctly what I found. If not I am sorry and I hope you can ignore it for the sake of the story, it won't be overly important in the end.

This chapter shows a bit of the town that was my home for 6 months, the beauty as well as the annoyances. I hope you like it, I hope you review, I hope you'll read the next chapter when this story gets tricky.

Take care

p.s.: All the places and streets are real and you can look them up on google if you like ;)

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**Chapter 1: The Woman Who Fell**

**8:00 p.m. Tuesday, Hilton Hotel, Souissi, Rabat.**

"There you are! I've been running around the dining room for ten minutes looking for you. This place is enormous," Booth said and sat down across the table from his partner.

"It's the Hilton Hotel. What did you expect? They even have their own forest and park here. I've never seen that anywhere else," Temperance replied. She dipped a piece of bread in some salad dressing and ate it.

"Unlike some people, I've never stayed in a Hilton hotel before," he said, looking curiously at her salad. "So what's for dinner?" he asked as he placed a napkin in his lap.

"The buffet is over there. You can choose for yourself. There are several different salads, pasta, couscous, chicken, fish…lots of things," she replied with a shrug.

"There are lots of things and you chose the salad?"

"I like salad," she said simply.

"You know, you shouldn't eat salad or fruit in a country like Morocco. Oh, and don't drink the tap water, either," Booth said, rising from the table and replacing his napkin on the table.

"Booth, I identified people in Congo. I know about diarrhea and I brought medicine to prevent it, so don't worry," she told him earnestly. She grew irritated as he leaned over the table, his face mere inches from her own.

"Please don't mention the word _diarrhea_ when I am about to get something to eat ever again," he murmured before marching off to the buffet.

He returned a few minutes later, carefully carrying a plate overflowing with food. He gingerly set the plate down on the table, hoping nothing would fall. "If one of us is going to get diarrhea, it'll be you," Brennan said, pointing to his plate.

"What did I tell you about that topic and food?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in exasperation as he sat down in his chair and spread the napkin in his lap once again.

"Okay, then let's talk about the case. Were you able to ship the remains back to the Jeffersonian?" she asked.

"Eventually. At first the local police refused to let the body out of the country, but you should have seen how quickly they changed their minds with a few dirham here and there," he smirked.

"You bribed the police?" Brennan gasped.

"Don't tell me you didn't do it occasionally in Guatemala or Africa," he retorted. "That's the way things work over here. The wages of the police are so low they can't survive on that alone. So they blackmail a person here and there to get some money." He shrugged and started shoveling food in his mouth.

"But you're FBI," she insisted. "You're the law; you shouldn't bribe someone. It's against the law."

"Yeah, well, the law is different here, Bones. Look, we're in Morocco! The remains are on their way to the Jeffersonian. The weather is great, the food is good, and life is awesome! So what did you find?" he asked, flashing her that disarming smile of his.

"I found compound fractures on her left leg and arm, anterior fractures of her fifth, sixth, and seventh ribs on her right side. Left humerus fracture, left orbital floor fracture, zygomatico-frontal suture fracture. Central frontal fracture of the skull," she listed and took another bite of her salad. "The hip was fractured as well. I think I'm forgetting something, though," she murmured to herself as she chewed. Booth only raised his eyebrows and she realized that he had no idea what she was talking about. He needed a Brennan-Booth translation. "She broke her neck, that's what I forgot! Several bones in her face are fractured. There's a fracture in the middle of her forehead. Her hip is broken and so are her left leg and arm, along with three ribs on her right side. All of them are traumatic injuries," she added.

"Was she beaten?" he asked, face scrunched.

"No, I don't think so. It appears that she fell down some stairs," Brennan replied, taking some couscous from his plate.

"That must have been one hell of a fall. Accident?" he asked, picking some of the shrimp out of her salad.

"I can't eliminate the possibility yet, but I don't think so. She must have fallen forward on her face and I couldn't find any indications that she tried to shield herself or that she tried to catch herself. Usually when you trip or get pushed, you try to catch yourself or you use your hands to shield yourself. It's instinct, but she did neither of those things. And judging by her injuries, the stairway must have been a long one," Brennan said, shaking her head lightly.

"Could she have been unconscious or dead before she was thrown down the stairs?" Booth asked.

"I don't think so. She had to have been standing upright and then fallen face-first down the stairs. Maybe she was drugged. I hope the tox screen and Angela's reconstruction of the scenario will tell us more. Did you find anything out about who she was?"

"Not yet. The embassy is currently searching through the database of missing foreigners in Morocco. The local authorities insisted on helping somehow, so I gave them a copy of the dental records so that they have something to do and we can do our work," he replied.

"It will take at least 14 hours for the remains to reach the Jeffersonian and another six hours for them to be able to tell us something. Factor in the time difference and we have nothing to do till 5:00 p.m. tomorrow," Brennan sighed.

"Of course we have something to do," Booth protested wholeheartedly.

"What could we possibly do without any results?" she asked, tilting her head to one side and challenging him with her steady gaze.

"We're in Morocco, Bones! We'll go sightseeing!" he grinned as he picked another shrimp off her plate and popped it in his mouth.

**1:00 p.m. Wednesday, Rabat Centre Ville, Avenue Mohammed V**

"It's November, I get that, but why does it have to be raining all day when we have a day off? And it's cold! I never thought Morocco could be this cold," Booth complained as they walked through the streets of Rabat up to the medina, the city marketplace. "And what happened to drains on the streets and sidewalks? I have water in my shows. Now my socks are wet!" he whined. He lifted his right foot and waved it in the air for emphasis.

"The weather forecast predicted rain for at least another week. The infrastructure here isn't designed for heavy rain. Same thing happened in Mexico a few years ago and whole villages got swept away by the water; hundreds of people died," Brennan replied, walking around another deep puddle on the sidewalk.

"Not helping here, Bones," Booth grumbled, looking disgusted as he noticed yet another puddle blocking their way.

"Look, there's the medina. Maybe we can find some new socks for you in there," she said. She tried to lighten his mood by linking arms with him. The medina was surrounded by a large ochre wall that seemed to run through the whole city. In front of it was a huge parking space that was covered ankle-deep in water. It didn't seem to disturb the locals, who drove full-speed into the parking lot, not caring that other people might receive an unwelcome shower.

"This is crazy! They way they're driving, it's a wonder they haven't killed themselves yet," Booth grumbled.

"Approximately 4,000 people die every year in Morocco in car accidents," his partner replied as she pulled him to the right side of the medina. She had spotted some clothing shops.

"Now you sound like that one crazy intern you had a while back. The random facts guy, he creeped me out," Booth said, following his partner into the narrow alley. Small shops were set up on each side in what looked like open garages overflowing with merchandise.

"Welcome to Morocco," the first shop owner they passed yelled after them in English.

"Thank you," Brennan said, turning around.

"What do you need? Trousers? Shirt? Skirts? Shawls? I got everything," he told her and she turned back around to make her way through the crowd, her arm still linked with her partner's.

"A necklace for your wife?" The next merchant addressed Booth as they passed his store. Booth rolled his eyes and maneuvered around a small cage in the middle of the alley that held several small turtles and iguanas.

"Look, he has socks," Temperance said, pointing to a small shop.

The man in the shop overheard her comment and began hawking his wares almost immediately. "You need socks? I have all kinds! Blue, green, black; what do you need?" he asked.

They stopped to check out his selection and Brennan giggled when she noticed the blue and pink-striped pair. "Look, these must be missing from your collection! Or do you have some fuzzy toe socks that I don't know about?" she smiled as Booth shook his head. He tried to look offended, but failed miserably.

"Bikam?" he asked the vendor, pointing to the socks.

"Saba'in dirham," the man replied.

Booth shook his head. "Ashrun," he replied.

"Chamsin," the man shot back. Booth nodded and handed him fifty dirham. "B'siha," the shop owner told him, smiling, as he handed him a bag containing the socks.

"He was friendly," Brennan observed.

"I would be, too, if I'd just ripped off someone for a lousy pair of socks," Booth grumbled once they were out of the merchant's earshot.

"I didn't know you speak Arabic," she went on, impressed, as they continued their stroll through the medina.

"Just a few words here and there," he shrugged, stopping in front of a display of small silver tea cans.

"Did you learn it in Iraq?" she asked. They hurried away when the shop owner spotted them.

"Before we left for Iraq, we all had to learn at least a bit of Arabic so that we could make a bit of conversation with the locals when necessary," he told her as they entered a door that led to the old section of the medina. It had a flat reed roof and was even narrower than the new section of the market. The shops here were more traditional than their counterparts in the trendier new section.

**3:00 p.m. Wednesday, Oudaya, Medina Rabat**

"If one more person yells, 'Welcome to Morocco!' to me, I'm going to have to shoot them," Booth grumbled as he sat down in one of the small blue chairs in the coffee shop in the Oudaya, the old fortress in Rabat. It was situated on a small terrace that had a great view of the Atlantic and was frequented mostly by tourists.

A waiter arrived with a tray full of teacups. "Thé, madam? Monsieur?"

"Oui, merci," Brennan replied, accepting two cups of tea.

"Vingt dirham, monsieur." The waiter addressed booth, who took out some coins and handed them over.

"You order the tea and I have to pay. Nice," Booth joked before taking a careful sip of the hot tea. "Mmmm, that's good. One of the things I actually liked in Iraq was this sweet mint tea," he added.

"It's good. A bit too sweet, maybe. I wish I had my camera with me to take some pictures. The view here is amazing," she replied, shivering slightly.

"You cold?" Booth asked, none too warm himself.

"A bit. The wind is quite cold," she admitted, wrapping both hands around the small teacup to warm them.

"Here," Booth said and shrugged out of his jacket. He wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Thank you, but now you'll be cold. Just take your jacket. I should have thought of bringing one myself," she protested. She tried to take off the jacket, but Booth placed a restraining hand on her shoulder.

"We've had this discussion before. Take the jacket and let me be the knight in shining armor," he told her, squeezing her shoulder gently as he looked her in the eye. That look alone warmed her up and she knew she had lost.

"Thank you," she repeated quietly. She held his gaze and gave him a small, grateful smile.

**TBC**


	3. The woman who disappeared

Once again thanks to Kay for te beta-reading!

Hope you like the chapter... now the story is really getting started!

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**Chapter 2: The Woman Who Disappeared**

**5:26 p.m. Wednesday, Hilton Hotel, Souissi, Rabat**

"Wow, nice outfit," Booth exclaimed as he entered the hotel gym and found Brennan with another woman in one of the dance studios. She wore a sport top that left her belly free and leggings. A sparkling shawl was wrapped around her hips and he had trouble keeping his eyes from wandering over her body. Brennan had decided to take some belly dancing lessons while she had the time and opportunity and now Booth had interrupted.

"You want to join us, monsieur?" the instructor asked him with a teasing twinkle in her eyes. She moved her hips from side to side, obviously showing off. Brennan wrinkled her forehead in disapproval.

"Uh, no thanks," Booth replied, rubbing his neck with one hand as he did every so often when he was uncomfortable. "Bones, we have to go. I just got a call that we may have a match," he said quickly, before making a hasty exit.

Twenty minutes later, Brennan hurried alongside Booth as he strode quickly through the hotel. "You could have waited until I was done with my dance lesson. It was only another ten minutes," she complained.

"We don't have time, not even ten minutes. The woman's name was Katherine Meyers, 36 years old, wife of one of the highest-ranking officers in the American Embassy in Rabat. Said embassy closes at six and we need to get there before that so we can tell General Meyers that we found his wife," Booth replied, opening the door of the large Mercedes-Benz that was parked in front of the hotel.

"We have a car?" Brennan asked, confused, as she slid into the back seat.

"With a driver," Booth replied, grinning. He climbed in beside her and rapped the window separating the front seat from the back with a knuckle. "Let's hit the road, Hassan," he said as Brennan smiled.

**6:10 p.m. Wednesday, American Embassy, Centre Ville, Rabat.**

"General Meyers, there's a Special Agent Booth and a Dr. Brennan here to see you," the secretary said over the intercom.

"Show them in," he replied.

"Yes, sir."

Booth and Brennan entered the general's office as he rose from his desk. He was a tall man in his mid-forties with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a tailored suit. "Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan," he greeted them, shaking each of their hands in turn. "Please, have a seat. My secretary tells me you think you've found my wife."

Booth and Brennan sat down next to each other on a couch in one corner of the room and the general took a seat across from them. "I'm sure you've heard that we were called in to identify the human remains found in the embassy garden," Brennan began. The general nodded but said nothing. "We went through the database of missing people here in Morocco and the dental records we have matched those of your wife," she continued.

The general buried his face in his hands for a moment. "Kat went missing seven months ago," he began. "I saw her that morning before I left for work. When I came home that evening, she was gone. The maid said that Kat left the house around ten and never came back. I called everyone I could think of, hoping someone had seen her, hoping someone knew where she was. I've never stopped looking for her. I turned over every stone in Morocco searching for her and now it turns out that she was right in front of my nose the whole time, right out there in the garden, dead." He shook his head, trying desperately not to break down. Tears swam in his eyes and Brennan felt sorry for him, but she couldn't help thinking that the whole situation was rather ironic.

"Did your wife have any enemies?" Booth asked.

"No, no. Everybody loved Kat. That's why we thought at first that she had been kidnapped, but we never received any ransom demand," he replied sadly. He stared at his hands for a moment before he looked up again. "How did she die?" he asked softly.

"We're not really sure about that yet, but it looks like she fell down some stairs," Brennan explained, exchanging glances with Booth. She hated guessing. Even if she had some facts on which to base her guess, it was still guessing.

"If it was an accident, then who buried her in the garden?" the general asked, confused.

"We don't think it was an accident, but we can't talk about it at this point," Booth replied before Brennan could start in on one of her lengthy explanations. "Can you tell us who had access to the embassy and knew your wife well enough that she would meet with them?" Booth asked.

"Kat knew everyone around here, from the ambassador to the cleaning lady. She had a lot of friends here," Meyers replied.

"I'm going to need a list of her closest friends and the people who saw her last," Booth told him.

"I have all the files here in the office. The police gave me copies of everything; just a second," the general said. He rose and walked over to his desk. He returned a moment later with two thick files and handed one to Booth. He opened the other and took out a picture of a brunette woman in her early thirties. "That was Kat. Please find out what happened to her so she can finally rest in peace," he begged, his voice wavering slightly.

"Thank you, General Meyers. We'll do everything we can," Booth replied. They shook hands once again and left.

**7:30 p.m., Avenue des Princess, Souissi, Rabat**

"Brennan," Temperance barked into her phone, already knowing that the call came from the Jeffersonian. She put the cell phone on speaker so Booth could hear the report as well.

"Cam here. I just wanted to let you know that the remains arrived early this morning. Your assistant is cleaning the bones as we speak and Angela is trying to create a possible scenario. We all agree with you that she must have fallen down stairs," Cam said, getting right to the point.

"Yeah, face first without shielding herself," Booth commented.

"That's where the tox screen comes in. Her blood contained high levels of imipramine," Cam reported.

"That could explain a lot," Brennan nodded as Booth let out a heavy sigh. "She was doped up on antidepressants. Her reaction would have been slowed by the meds and she couldn't have shielded herself if she had wanted to," Brennan mused.

"So she was too drugged to react. Is it possible that she was forced to take the drugs?" Booth asked Cam.

"I don't think so. Such a high concentration would likely have killed her if her body wasn't used to the drug, instead of just calming her down. She probably took the pills herself, stumbled over something, and fell down the stairs," Cam replied.

"Yeah, but if it was an accident, why did someone bury her in the embassy garden?" Booth wondered.

"I have no idea. Good luck figuring it out!" Cam laughed.

"Thanks. Call when you have something new," Booth replied, rolling his eyes.

"I will. Have fun, you two," Cam said and hung up.

"Something happened that neither the general nor his maid want us to know about," Booth speculated. They were on their way back from interviewing General Meyers' maid, having learned nothing new. The maid had simply repeated what she'd told the police seven months ago: She had been in the kitchen when Mrs. Meyers left the house; she heard the door close and didn't wonder; and she knew for a fact that Mrs. Meyers hadn't taken her own car because the garage was right next to the kitchen and she would have heard the motor. She hadn't seen or heard anything of Mrs. Meyers since.

"So what are we going to do now?" Brennan asked.

"I guess we can only wait for more results from the Jeffersonian and read through the initial police report again in the meantime," Booth replied with a shrug as he patted the stack of files on the seat next to him. "But first, let's get something to eat. I'm starved," he grinned.

"Do you want to eat at the hotel or do you want to go out for –" Brennan was interrupted by Booth's cell phone ringing.

"Booth," he barked after a quick check of the caller ID revealed the call was from an unknown number.

Brennan watched him closely as he talked and knew from his expression that something was wrong. "What is it?" she asked immediately after he hung up.

"That was the Moroccan police. They claim to have found a match to the dental records and they insist that they're right," he explained.

"I don't understand. We've already matched the dental records to Katherine Meyers," she said, confused.

"And they matched them to a woman named Mia Kellerman," Booth told her. "She disappeared thirteen years ago."

"That's impossible!" Brennan exclaimed.

"I know, Bones, I know," Booth replied. He knocked on the window to tell the driver that they wouldn't be returning to the hotel just yet.

**TBC**


	4. Women with one dentition

Thanks to Kay for betaing

If you want too brighten my weekend then please don't only read but review as well. I appreciate it.

Oh and yes, chamsin means 50 in Arabic.

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**Chapter 3: Women With One Dentition**

**8:30 p.m. Wednesday, Dental Clinic Agdal, Rabat**

Brennan was standing in front of X-rays depicting a human skull. Booth stood beside two men, one of them a Moroccan police officer, the other the dentist whose office they were currently in.

"He's right, Booth, the dental records match," Brennan nodded, turning to face them.

"How likely is it that two people have the exact same teeth?" he demanded. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, frustrated. Everything had gone so smoothly until now. Now they had two women with the same teeth.

"It's impossible," Brennan shrugged.

"So we have only two possibilities," Booth started.

"Two? I can only see one: This is the same woman," she interrupted.

"Or the X-rays got mixed up. Look around; I think that's definitely a possibility," he said as he glanced around the room. Dossiers were everywhere, papers were scattered all over the desk, and the computer had a small, overflowing ashtray on top of it.

"Possible, but not likely. The police had the same X-ray in their files from 13 years ago. It's highly unlikely that there was a mix-up."

"Except if someone swiped them," Booth pointed out, stabbing a finger in her direction for emphasis.

"Again, possible, but this is pure speculation and you know I hate that," she argued, wishing he would stop speculating and get back to the facts.

"But it doesn't make any sense," he insisted, turning to his Moroccan colleague. "Can you tell us anything about this woman and her case?" he asked, but the man just stared back at him.

"Vous pouvez nous dire quelquechose de cette femme?" Brennan translated, pointing to the X-rays. The officer smiled at her as he launched into a lengthy explanation in French that made Booth tap his foot impatiently on the floor. When the man finally stopped, Booth looked to Brennan with raised eyebrows, his arms once again crossed in front of his chest, for interpretation. "Mia Kellerman was 27 years old when she vanished 13 years ago. Her father was the American ambassador back then. She went out to a private playground one day with her husband and the five-year-old daughter of some friends. They were the only ones at the playground at the time because it was quite early. The security guard there received a phone call and left for a few minutes. When he returned, Mia, her husband, and the girl were gone and there was blood on the floor. Mia's husband was found two weeks later on the steps of the American Embassy. He'd been beaten pretty badly and couldn't remember what happened. He returned to the States shortly after that. Neither Mia nor the girl were ever found." Brennan gestured to the Moroccan officer and continued. "He says that at first, they thought it was a kidnapping since the girl was the daughter of a Saudi prince, but there was never any ransom demand," she finished.

"So let me get this straight," Booth said. "A woman disappears with a little girl and then turns up dead in a garden 13 years later, but she's only been dead a few months and has an entirely new identity?" He shook his head. "Nah, something doesn't smell right."

"Est-ce qu'on peut avoir le dossier?" Brennan asked the Moroccan police officer.

"Bien sur. Et le prince Karim a demandé de parler avec vous," he replied.

"The prince wants to talk to us," Brennan translated.

Booth nodded. "Let's pay him a little visit before we speak to General Meyers again," he said. "How do we find this prince?"

"Oú est-ce qu'on peut trouver le prince?" Brennan asked the officer.

"A l'embassade de l'Saudia, il vous attends," he replied. They shook hands and then Booth and Brennan left the policeman, the dentist, and his office behind.

**9:00 p.m. Wednesday, Saudi Arabian Embassy, Avenue Imam Malik, Souissi, Rabat**

"Whoa, look at that castle," Booth said as they drove up to the guard house at the gate.

"You should see the Iranian Embassy," Brennan said. She slid closer and then leaned over him to look out his window and get a better view of the building. Booth pressed himself further into his seat, desperate to put a little space between them. The driver, meanwhile, had gotten out of the car and was talking to one of the armed guards at the gate. Brennan scooted closer to Booth, supporting herself with a hand on his thigh, and he groaned quietly. She completely misunderstood him. "I am not that heavy, Booth," she insisted, sitting up as their driver returned to the car.

"They won't let us in," he told them.

"What? I'm FBI, they have to let us in," Booth said and sat up straight, his hand already on the knob to open the door.

"I am afraid not, sir. This isn't the United States. You have no jurisdiction here," he said matter-of-factly.

"But this prince guy called and he wants to see us. Doesn't that count?" Booth asked.

"Prince Karim," Brennan said.

"As long as he doesn't inform his guards, I am afraid not, sir," Hassan replied with a helpless shrug.

"What is this? Now the guards make the decisions?" Booth said angrily. He opened the car door and stormed out.

"This is not a good idea," the driver told Brennan, spurring her to action.

She hurried after her partner, who was already yelling at the guards. "Your boss has called us, okay guys? Look, it's late, I am tired and jetlagged, and I have a gun, so you better –" He didn't get much further because at the mention of the word gun, both guards poised their guns at Booth, who immediately threw his hands up in the air.

"Okay, everyone, calm down. My partner here won't shoot anyone, so you can put those guns down. What he was trying to say is that Prince Karim wants to see us because we have news concerning the disappearance of his daughter Rana," Brennan explained, opening the folder to ensure she got the girl's name right.

"You found Rana?" one of the guards asked, dropping his weapon.

"No, but we found the woman who disappeared the same day. Prince Karim already knows about all this and that is why he invited us here to talk to him," Booth continued, realizing they'd found a weak spot.

"Rana is my cousin. I was supposed to marry her one day," the young guard told them. He turned to his colleague while Booth and Brennan exchanged looks. "They can pass," he told him and finally the second man lowered his weapon. Slowly, Booth and Brennan got back into the car and closed the doors behind them.

"You really want to get shot again, don't you?" Brennan asked him, shaking her head.

"I'm tired and hungry," he replied.

She smiled at the pout that formed on his face. "After talking to his Royal Highness, we'll get something to eat," she promised him, patting his hand reassuringly. She left her hand on top of his and gave it a squeeze.

They were led to a side wing of the embassy and entered a huge salon that had several sofas along the walls, expensive carpets on the floor, and a ceiling covered with ornaments. The butler signaled them to sit down on a couch in front of a small wooden table. Seconds later, another man entered the room with a tray of tea and cookies. When he was gone, a third man appeared. He was tall with dark hair and sported jeans and a polo shirt.

"I apologize for the trouble you had at the gate. I had to tell my wife that there was something new about Mia and I forgot to inform the guards that you would be arriving," he explained. He shook Booth's hand and nodded politely at Brenna, laying his right hand briefly over his heart as he did so. He sat down opposite them and held up the plate of cookies. "Please, eat," he said, setting the plate in front of them.

"I am Special Agent Booth and this is –" Booth began his usual introductions, but the prince interrupted him.

"I know who you are. What can you tell me about my daughter?" he asked. His tone was polite, but it held an air of impatience.

"I'm afraid we can't tell you anything about your daughter. We haven't found her," Brennan replied. She took a sip of the sweet mint tea.

"I guess that's supposed to be a good thing, right? If you were here because of my daughter, Dr. Brennan, she would be dead," the prince replied and looked down, focusing on his hands. "Thirteen years ago I kissed my daughter goodbye in the morning and went to work. She walked me to this door like she did every morning and waved after my car," he said, pointing to the entrance they had just come through. "It was a weekend and usually my day off, but we had some trouble at the office, so I had to go in. My wife called me around eight and asked if it would be okay if Rana went to the playground with our friends Mia and Stephen. Of course, I said; why not? Then around ten, I got a call telling me that there had been an incident at the playground, that there was blood all over the floor, and that my daughter had disappeared. We reported her, Stephen, and Mia missing the same day and never hear from any of them ever again. We lost our best friends that day, but worse than that, we lost our only daughter," he finished. He took a deep breath when he was done before he looked back up.

"I am very sorry for your loss," Booth said softly.

"Please don't say that; it sounds so final. We still hope that she will come back to us one day," the prince said, fiddling with his teacup.

"We found the body of a woman that could be Mia Kellerman in the garden of the American Embassy," Brennan said.

Prince Karim flinched visibly. "The inspector said you found her with the help of dental records. Aren't those pretty exact?" he wondered.

"Yes, they are. But in this case we had two matches to those dental records. Do you know a woman named Katherine Meyers?" Booth asked.

"No, I have never heard that name before. Is that the other woman?"

"Yes. Her husband is working for the American Embassy. Maybe you know him?"

"No, I am sorry, I do not. Mia's father worked for the embassy back then. After they disappeared, I stopped working with the Americans. I am working internal affairs now," he replied.

"You said before that you never heard from the Kellerman's ever again. Stephen Kellerman was found two weeks after the disappearance on the steps of the American Embassy. Didn't you talk to him afterwards?" Booth asked.

The prince's head snapped up. "What? I didn't know that Stephen was found. Why didn't anyone tell me?" he asked, upset, and began pacing. "What did he say? Did he say anything about Rana?"

"No, he couldn't remember anything at all," Booth replied.

The prince stopped his pacing abruptly. "Where is he now? Why didn't he ever call? I want to talk to him! I want him to tell me to my face that he doesn't know what happened to Mia and Rana," the prince demanded angrily.

"Our colleagues in the U.S. are trying to find him as we speak," Booth said, sounding sympathetic.

"What am I going to tell my wife now? That you found something but nothing about our daughter? That Stephen is alive but doesn't remember? She is not doing very well, Agent Booth. I can't tell her that. Please, please find something and tell us what happened to our daughter. Sometimes I think not knowing what happened is worse than anything else," he said desperately.

Temperance grabbed Booths' hand without realizing it. "It is," she said. "Not knowing is worse than anything else. I speak from experience," she told him quietly.

"Please, help us," the man said, looking straight at her, his eyes shining with tears.

"We'll do everything we can," Booth assured him. He gave Temperance's hand a squeeze and stood up.

**10:45 p.m. Wednesday, Hilton Hotel, Souissi, Rabat**

"No, Parker, we haven't seen any camels yet. What? Yeah, sure, I'll take a picture. I don't know if she'll do it, but I'll ask her. Just a second," Booth said and turned to Temperance. She was lying on her stomach beside him on the bed, reading police reports. "Parker wants a picture of both of us riding a camel. Would you do it?" he asked.

"Sure, if we see a camel," she shrugged and went back to reading the reports.

"You heard her? Okay, buddy, sleep well…Oh, right…Okay, sleep well later and be good, huh? Yeah, love you, too," Booth told his son and hung up. "Parker says hi and Agent Sanders told me that we don't have the necessary security clearance to get information on Stephen Kellerman or his wife," he told his partner. He'd talked to Sanders before Parker had called.

"Not surprising; she was the daughter of a diplomat. These reports are full of holes," she said, rolling onto her side to look up at him.

"What kind of holes?" he asked, taking the file from her and scanning the parts she had highlighted.

"Basically, they never did a thorough investigation. They saw the blood, took some pictures, and cleaned the place up. Two weeks later they found the husband, took some pictures of his injuries after they fixed him up, and then they just let him walk away after he said he didn't remember anything. No DNA samples and no real crime scene pictures were ever taken. They never really looked into what happened to Mia and the only reason they searched for the girl was because Prince Karim insisted on it. He donated quite a lot of money to welfare organizations here in Morocco over the years," she explained.

"To keep the investigation open," Booth nodded and handed the file back to her. "Can you tell what he had been beaten with?" he asked, pointing to a blurry picture of an injured Stephen Kellerman.

"No, the picture isn't good enough. I think we should mail all the pictures to Angela and see what she can do with them," Brennan suggested, flipping through the file again. She looked up at Booth. "Do you know what else is weird?" she asked.

"Okay, you can't read or speak Arabic. What could you possibly find in a file you don't even understand?" he asked, grinning.

"There's no picture of the girl in there, not one. How can you look for a child without even knowing what she looks like?" Brennan asked.

Booth opened the file, perplexed, looked through it himself, and whistled. "You're right. Guess we have to talk to the prince again tomorrow. But right now, I just want to sleep," he replied and tossed the file onto the floor next to the bed. He slid down and lay flat on his back.

"Me, too. You know, your bed is comfy," Brennan said, closing her eyes. She just stayed there, seeing no point in getting up. They fell asleep together in Booth's bed, exhausted from their long day.

**TBC**


	5. the woman on the marmoreal stairs

Thank you for your reviews, I really really love them. Keep them coming!

Thanks to Kay for beta reading!

Oh and I am working on the next chapter of "Solving a problem", so sorry I haven't updated yet!

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**Chapter 4: The Woman on the Marmoreal Stairs**

**5:34 a.m. Thursday, Hilton Hotel, Souissi, Rabat**

Booth awoke slowly. He opened his eyes and blinked several times, trying to adjust his eyes to the dim light and figure out what had disturbed his sleep. Pressure on his chest made him look down to see his partner sprawled all over him. She had snuggled up to him during the night and now her head rested on his chest, her legs were entwined with his, and her right hand lay lightly over his heart. He smiled at the sight, brushing the tip of his nose softly against her hair and inhaling her scent. He had done that before when they hugged, yet he'd never been this close to her. She was sleeping in his arms, half on top of him, for God's sake.

Suddenly, he heard the beeping sound that had awoken him and grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand. He answered it quickly and quietly so he wouldn't wake Brennan. "Booth," he whispered, softly stroking Temperance's hair.

"Hey, hot stuff, it's Angela," she said.

Booth rolled his eyes, knowing she couldn't see him. "I'd never have guessed," he replied sarcastically, waiting for her to explain why she was calling.

"We just wanted to give you an update before we leave the lab for the night," she said, sounding strangely excited.

"That's really very nice, but it's five in the morning over here," he groused.

"Wow, you're in a bad mood when someone wakes you up. Look, Mr. Grumpy, I tried to reach Brennan first, but she didn't answer her cell phone."

"Maybe that's because it's five in the morning," Booth repeated.

"Hey, at least you're in bed. It's ten here and we're still in the lab, so let's get this over with. I ran the scenario according to all the results we have so far and the only possible scenario is that she was pushed really hard down a stairway with at least 15 steps. The attack came from behind; she wouldn't have seen it coming. She smashed head first into the third step down without shielding herself, fell to her right side, and slammed her left arm and leg into the banister. The banister was either on both sides or the right side only. She slid down two more steps and crashed into either the wall or the banister on the left side, and that's how she broke her hip. I sent the animation to Brennan's laptop," Angela explained.

Booth scrunched up his face. To calm himself, he began tracing soft circles on Brennan's back. "Thanks, Angela," he replied, suppressing a yawn.

"We also found small particles in her skull and on her hand that turned out to be marble and iron. Look for marmoreal stairs with an iron banister. There was some color on it, something dark," Hodgins added, his voice echoing through the loudspeaker.

Booth raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Is that you, Hodgins?" he asked teasingly.

"You know it is," Angela replied.

He could hear the smile in her voice. "You two don't happen to be alone in the lab, do you?" Booth asked, grinning, as he loosely wrapped a strand of Brennan's hair around his index finger.

"And if we are? Look, we really have to go," Angela giggled, hanging up before Booth could teaser her any further. He shook his head and placed the phone back on the nightstand.

"Who was it?" Brennan asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

Booth gazed down at her and realized that she hadn't even opened her eyes.

"Angela. I'll tell you about it tomorrow; go back to sleep," he murmured, giving her a gentle squeeze.

"Mm-kay," she mumbled, snuggling even deeper into him as he closed his eyes again.

**10:00 a.m. Thursday, American Embassy, Centre Ville, Rabat**

"Good morning, Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan; what can I do for you? Have you found out what happened to my wife?" General Meyers asked as the two entered his office.

"We've determined that your wife was pushed with significant force down a stairway," Brennan replied without waiting for Booth.

"Oh my God," the general said. He sat down in his chair, clearly shocked.

"Do you know of any marmoreal staircases your wife would have used?" she continued. Booth shot her a look that silenced her.

"The staircase we have at home is wooden and those here are covered with carpet. I don't know of any others," he replied, shaking his head.

"Would you mind if we took a look at the staircases in this building and those in your home?" Booth asked.

"No, not at all. Do you need a floor plan of the building?" General Meyers asked.

Booth shook his head. "That won't be necessary, but I do have one other question," he said. Temperance already knew what he was going to ask. "Does the name Mia Kellerman mean anything to you?"

The general stiffened slightly, but shook his head no. "I'm afraid not. Should it mean something?" he asked, clearing his throat.

"No, it's just a name that came up while we've been investigating your wife's murder. If you don't know the name, our Moroccan colleagues must have made a mistake," Booth lied.

"If you say so," the man shrugged, relaxing visibly.

"Did you know that your wife was taking anti-depressants?" Brennan asked.

The general's eyes widened. "No…no. Why would Kat do that? She was happy! We had a good marriage, a great life, a wonderful family. I can't imagine why she would need anti-depressants," he said, clearly upset, as he rose from his seat.

"We found imipramine in her bloodstream in pretty heavy doess. It must have been obvious that she was drugged; she would have been in a daze," she continued, but General Meyers just shook his head.

"I really had no idea," he repeated quietly.

"Well, Bones, let's take a look at those staircases," Booth said, opening the door.

"The maid should be home. I'll call her and make sure she will show you around," Meyers said, following them out into the hallway.

"Thanks, we appreciate your help," Booth said, waiting till the general had closed the door to his office before turning to his partner. "He's lying," he whispered in her ear, unaware of the goose bumps he was giving her.

"I know, he cleared his throat and Sweets told me that that is a clear indicator of dishonesty," she replied, nodding, as she tried to get a grip on her feelings.

"Or of a cold," Booth smiled, winked, and walked down the first steps of the staircase in front of them.

"So what are we looking for again? Marble stairs with an iron banister on the right side and possibly the left, painted a dark color?" Brennan asked, summarizing what Booth had told her over breakfast.

"Yep. I guess this one is no match; it's got a wooden banister. And speaking of iron and color, Angela and Hodgins are back together," Booth said as they descended the stairs.

"What? She told you that?" Brennan gaped at him and grabbed his arm to slow him down a bit.

"She didn't need to. Come on, Bones. Those two alone, at night, Angela all giggly and flirty, Hodgins so self-confident I wanted to slap him through the phone. There's something going on," he grinned.

"You don't know that if she didn't say anything explicitly. After all, she and Roxy just broke up a few weeks ago," Brennan insisted, following him down the hallway to another staircase by the back door.

"My gut is telling me that there's something going on and my gut is never wrong," he said, flashing her one of his cocky smiles.

"And what is your gut saying about that staircase?" she asked as they stopped in front of a huge staircase with an iron banister and floral ornaments, all painted black.

"My gut is telling me that this could be a match," he said, "if it weren't for the carpet rolled out on the staircase. No way someone could break that many bones on this staircase."

"True, but the reports say that seven months ago, the embassy was being renovated because of mold. They painted the walls and restored the old doorways and staircases. There wouldn't be carpet during restoration," she said, leaning down to lift up an edge of the carpet.

"You have your blue magic with you?" he asked, helping her lift the carpet.

"Of course I do," she grinned at him and opened her bag. She sprayed the lading and the first five stairs with Luminol, but that was as far as they could lift the huge carpet. She took the blue light out while Booth closed the curtains and within seconds, large spots shone back at them in bright blue.

"Bingo, baby," Booth grinned proudly as he bumped fists with Brennan. "We have our crime scene."

**2:46 p.m. Thursday, Saudi Arabian Embassy, Avenue Imam Malik, Souissi, Rabat**

"Sorry to bother you," Booth apologized when the prince finally entered the living room. This time they hadn't had any problems entering the embassy, but the prince wasn't home and they'd had to wait.

"It's okay. I was in a meeting and couldn't get out sooner. Have you learned anything new?" he asked.

Before either of them had a chance to answer, a woman dressed entirely in black entered the room. She was so heavily veiled that no part of her face was visible, not even her eyes. The women that surrounded her were veiled as well, but not as thoroughly as she was. "Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan, this is my wife, Amina," Karim said. He held out his hand to the woman in black. She didn't touch it, but held out her hand as well and Booth and Brennan could see that she wore black gloves.

"Hello, and welcome to our home," she said quietly. "My husband tells me that you found Mia," she went on. Neither Booth nor Brennan knew where to look; it was weird speaking to someone whose face was hidden so completely.

"Thank you," Brennan replied while Booth continued staring.

"Karim, haven't you offered our guests any tea?" Amina asked, gliding toward the couch. She took a seat next to her husband.

"I just arrived myself and hadn't yet had the opportunity to ask for tea," he replied, then turned to Booth and Brennan. "Please, have a seat," he said, motioning to another sofa. "I will be right back." He disappeared through a door at the other side of the room, leaving them alone with his wife.

"My husband tells me that you spoke with him last night. If I can be of any assistance, please let me know," Amina said. She removed the veil from her eyes at last and revealed blue eyes, much to Booth's surprise. "I am sorry. It's just so dark in here that I cannot see you with the veil."

"We went through the files from your daughter's disappearance last night and we came across some things that we wanted to ask you and your husband about," Booth began gently.

"Please, ask me anything. Karim thinks I am not up to this, but I disagree. He thinks he needs to protect me from everything, but I would feel so much better if I was allowed to contribute something, anything, to help find our daughter."

"Do you have a photo of your daughter?" Brennan asked in her usual blunt manner. Amina looked confused. "We went through the file but we couldn't find a picture of your daughter. That's usually the first thing the police would ask for in a missing person case," she explained hastily after Booth shot her a dirty look.

"We never took any pictures of our daughter. You won't find any pictures of us, either. In our religion, it is not allowed to take pictures of people," the princess replied.

"You don't have a single picture of your daughter? That must be hard," Brennan remarked without thinking, earning another dirty look from Booth.

"It is hard. I wish I had a picture of her. That would make it so much easier not to worry about forgetting what she looked like. I no longer remember what she smelled like or what her hair smelled like. I remember the way her eyes sparkled when she was excited and how she clung to me when she was sad, but I have forgotten what her voice sounded like." Tears sprang to Amina's eyes and she took a deep breath. "Sometimes I go to her room and lie down on her bed, hug her favorite stuffed animal to me, look at the…" She stopped suddenly as something occurred to her. "Would you come with me for a moment?" she asked Brennan, standing up. Temperance exchanged surprised looks with Booth as she followed the woman. They hurried through a wide corridor and upstairs to the second level of the embassy, passing several salons, an office, and a library before they stopped in front of a closed door. "This was – is – my daughter's room, although I doubt it would still look like it does if she were still here with us. She was eighteen last month," the princess explained before opening the door.

The room was a dream in pink and white and as girly as a room could get. Toys were scattered all over the floor, as if their owner had stepped out momentarily and would return any second. Brennan felt claustrophobic as she entered. It was a large room, but too cutesy and girly for her taste. "There is only one existing picture of our daughter. It was drawn when she was three years old. Obviously I can't give it to you, but you can take a picture of it if you would like," she said, pointing to a large drawing on the wall. The portrait depicted a little girl with black curls and blue eyes in traditional dress.

"You have a beautiful daughter," Temperance said as she snapped pictures with her cell phone.

"Thank you. How many children do you and your husband have?" Amina asked, removing her veil for a moment as she adjusted the hijab she wore. She was a beautiful woman, maybe in her mid-thirties or early forties. She had long dark hair and the same blue eyes as her daughter.

"I'm not married," Brennan explained, shaking her head and glancing uncomfortably around the room as the other woman refastened her veil. "I have no children."

"Forgive me, Agent Booth is not your husband?"

"No, we're just partners. May I ask why you wear this?" Temperance asked, pointing to the woman's veil.

"I was not a religious woman before my daughter disappeared. I prayed and fasted, but I did not wear the veil. My husband was the one who insisted that no pictures were taken of either Rana or me as a security measure; the fewer people there are who know what you look like, the fewer people there are who can kidnap you. After Rana disappeared, I hoped that if I were a better person that God would send her back to us or at least give us some sign of where she is. The years passed and I lost hope of ever seeing my daughter again. Now that you've found Mia dead, I think there is no hope left for Rana, right? She is dead, buried who knows where."

The princess stared at Brennan with eyes full of sadness, a gaze she could not shy away from. "There is no proof that your daughter is dead. After all, her body has never been found," the scientist said, trying to reassure the princess in her own way.

"There is no proof that she is alive, either," Amina countered, taking Brennan's hand. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes?"

"I know that you need the picture to search for my daughter and that you will do some sort of facial reconstruction to approximate her current appearance," she began.

"Actually, we hadn't planned on –"

Could you send me the picture? Just one picture, so I know what she would look like today?" she begged, her voice trembling.

"Of course," Temperance answered, nodding. She even returned Amina's hug. "Of course we'll send you a picture."

**5:13 p.m. Thursday, Hilton Hotel, Souissi, Rabat**

"Hi, Ange," Brennan greeted her friend as she sat down on the bed.

"Hey, Bren, nice room you have there," her friend commented.

"It's not bad," she shrugged indifferently.

"What's wrong? You seem sad," Angela said, picking up on her mood.

"I don't know. It's just this case," she sighed. "This little girl has been missing for 13 years. I met her mother today and they are just so desperate for every bit of information they can get. Her father nearly cried when he told us about his daughter the first time. Usually Booth does these kinds of talks alone while I look at the bones. I'm more comfortable with bones."

"It reminds you of your own past," Angela concluded.

"I just…I know how they feel. And it's hard," she said, shrugging again and trying to be brave. "I took some pictures of a painting that shows the girl when she was three years old, two years before she disappeared. It's the only picture they have of their daughter and the mother asked me if we could send her a print of it, altered to show what she might look like now."

"You didn't tell me you needed that done."

"We don't. It's just that she asked and she's so desperate and…"

"It's okay, sweetie. Send me the picture and I can do it," Angela smiled.

"Thanks, Angela," Temperance smiled gratefully at her friend.

"No problem. Speaking of facial reconstruction, I did one of your victim this morning and compared it to the picture of Mia Kellerman. Katherine Meyers is Mia Kellerman, plus a little plastic surgery and about thirteen years."

"Booth was right; Meyers lied," Temperance murmured, a small smile playing about her lips.

"Is Booth in a better mood now?" Angela asked.

"Why? He seemed fine to me."

"When I called him this morning, he was pretty grumpy. Next time, you'd better pick up your phone."

"Sorry. I forgot it in my room and then I fell asleep."

"You forgot your phone in your room? Where the hell did you fall asleep?"

"On Booth's bed while we –" Brennan began, but her friend kept her from explaining any further.

"Oh my God, I can't believe it! You slept with Booth? How was it?" Angela was positively beaming.

"Relaxing, except for when you called and woke us up," Brennan answered truthfully.

"I wasn't talking about the actual sleep part, honey. I was talking about the sex," she clarified for her literal friend.

"There was no sex. We worked, we talked, we fell asleep," Brennan explained, summing up her evening.

"Oh. Okay," Angela replied, obviously disappointed.

"But how was your night with Hodgins," Brennan asked, changing the subject.

"It was good. We worked, we talked, we had sex," she replied, smiling brightly.

"So you're back together?"

"We're working on that. I'll tell you everything when you get back. Talk to ya later," Angela said and hung up.

**9:56 p.m. Thursday, Hilton Hotel, Souissi, Rabat**

"See? I told you you'd like this movie," Booth said proudly as he stopped the movie playing on Brennan's laptop.

"It wasn't bad. I didn't like the ending, though," she said, pulling the blanket over her feet.

"It's romantic, Bones. _Casablanca_ is a romantic movie," Booth sighed, closing the notebook.

"I guess I'm just not one for romantic movies, especially after a day like today," she replied, watching as he leaned back against the headboard of her bed and slid down a bit.

"I'm sorry that the interviews got to you. I can do the rest alone, if you want," he said, taking her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"It was just so weird going up to that room. Everything looked like this little five-year-old girl was going to come back any second. Even if she does come back one day, she'll never be that five-year-old girl again. Everything will be different," she said, looking down at his hand and playing distractedly with his fingers.

"I shouldn't have let you come with me to those interview; it was too personal," he sighed, looking stricken.

"It's okay. Neither of us could have known that it would turn out that way. I'm just not good at comforting people. I'm much better with bones," she sighed.

He stilled her fingers by lacing his own through hers. "You were great today, Bones," he assured her. "The way you talked to that mother – you understood her, and that really helped."

"When my parents disappeared, I still had pictures and videos. I never looked at them, but I still had them. I can't imagine what it must be like to have nothing," she admitted. They were both quiet for a while. "You know, these parents believe that everything will be all right again when they find their daughter alive," Brennan said, breaking the silence. "I couldn't tell her that her daughter might not even remember her. She will have lived through different things with other people. Maybe she's found a new family that she won't be willing to give up. Maybe she likes her life the way it is right now," she added.

"Did you like your life before Max and Russ came back?" Booth asked, curious.

"I guess so. It's not like much has changed since they returned. I still work at the Jeffersonian; I still publish my books; I still have Angela, and Hodgins…and you. You are my family, the closest thing I've ever had to a family, excluding childhood," she replied, looking up at him.

"I'm glad. You're part of my family, too, you know," he told her, smiling. He draped one arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "Are you happy?" he asked, breathing the question into her hair.

"Right now? Yes, I am happy right now," she replied, laying her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes.

**TBC**

As you can see the chapters are getting longer. Hope you like that!


	6. The woman who vanished

I hope you're all still with me and this story...

As always: Huge thanks to Kay for beta reading! Hope you feel better soon!

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**Chapter 5: The Woman Who Vanished**

**11:30 a.m. Friday, American Embassy, Centre Ville, Rabat**

"What do you want me to say, Agent Booth?" Meyers asked, looking down at the prints of the facial reconstructions of his wife that Booth had shown him a minute before.

"I want you to tell me the truth. Why did you and your wife change your identities?" Booth demanded impatiently as he leaned across the table and glared at Meyers. "I am investigating the murder of your wife here and to be honest, it's not looking too good for you at the moment," Booth finished, straightening back up.

"You have nothing on me," Meyers protested.

"Oh no? I'll tell you what I have: I have a dead woman and a missing kid, and you're the only one who knows anything about them," Booth snarled.

"I can't remember what happened and neither could my wife," he insisted.

"Let me refresh your memory: You took Rana to the indoor playground and some men stormed in, men you had problems with. They took the kid, beat you up, and tossed you back out on the street two weeks later. You changed your name, met up with your wife, and left the country. Years later you're sent back. The same people are still at the embassy after all these years. They recognize you and your wife and they killed her. Sound familiar? Who are these people, Meyers?" Booth asked after he had built a story around everything they knew.

"I can't tell you. They'll kill me," Meyers replied quietly as he sank further into the chair. "We had some financial troubles back then and I took some money from a bank account that belonged to a fund from the embassy. I intended to pay it back, but before I had the chance, they found out and blackmailed us. They kept demanding more and more money, but I couldn't take any more out of the accounts without raising suspicions. That day we just wanted to relax, so we went to the playground. They came in and shot Rana; they said they didn't want any witnesses. They kidnapped us, raped my wife, and beat me, then tossed us out in the street weeks later. Kat's father took her and said that she had never reappeared in order to protect her. He gave us new identities and sent us back to the U.S. He died a few years ago and I kept working for the government. Last year when they decided to send me back to Morocco, I was scared, but I couldn't say no so off we went. I was older and had a different haircut. My wife had had several plastic surgeries and looked different. We thought that with the new names and different appearances, they wouldn't find us. I guess they recognized her anyway," he finished as he began to sob.

"I need to know who 'they' are, General," Booth said.

"I can't tell you because I don't really know, but I have to protect my daughter and me," Meyers said, looking back up at Booth.

"I understand that, but I still can't let you go that easily. I will give you two agents to protect you and your daughter and I'll assign guards to watch your house. Just don't plan on leaving town," Booth warned, sounding none too happy.

Brennan was waiting for him as he left the interrogation room; she'd heard the whole thing. "He's not telling the truth," she declared.

"I know. The only question is why? Our guys will watch his every step from now on. Maybe that will tell us something," he sighed, rubbing one hand over his face.

"The security guard finally gave me the surveillance video whil you were in there," Brennan told him.

"They finally found it?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes, it was somewhere in the basement. Hopefully we'll be able to see something and we won't have to send it back to the Jeffersonian first," she replied. "That would just take more time."

"True. Let's find a nice, quiet place where we can watch the video," he suggested, placing a hand on the small of her back and leading her down the corridor.

"Can't we just watch it in the interrogation room?" she asked.

"We can watch it out in the garden as long as the weather is nice. Catch some rays," he grinned.

"I hate watching surveillance videos; it's so boring," Booth groaned two hours later as he leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes for a moment and enjoyed the sun on his face while Brennan continued staring at the monitor in concentration.

"I know. It would be so much faster with Angela's software. But we're already at 8:00 p.m., so it shouldn't be much longer. At least we know the day it must have happened," she concluded without once taking her eyes off the screen.

"I suppose at least this way we'll get a tan," he grinned.

"Or skin cancer," she replied, leaning forward in her chair.

"Do you always have to ruin the fun? Just enjoy the sunshine," he grumbled, opening his eyes again.

"There's Prince Karim!" Brennan suddenly exclaimed. Booth sat straight up. "Did he tell you he was at the American Embassy that day?"

"No, he didn't," Booth replied. He stared at the screen and watched as the prince entered the building using a keycard.

"Why does a Saudi prince have a keycard to the American Embassy?" Brennan wondered aloud. "That doesn't make any sense."

"I don't know," Booth said and kept watching. "And there's Katherine Meyers, going down the same hallway," he said a moment later, raising his eyebrows. "Can you fast forward so we can see when he leaves again?" Brennan nodded. "Wow, two hours later. What could he do for two hours in a closed embassy?" he wondered.

"Kill Katherine Meyers and bury her in the backyard?" Brennan replied, stopping the tape.

**2:39 p.m. Friday, Café 7eme, Centre Ville, Rabat**

"Hey, Sweetie, it's me. Where are you?" Angela asked when Brennan answered the phone.

"We're having lunch before we interrogate a suspect," she replied, taking a bite of her fries.

"He's interrogating him? Why didn't he just arrest the guy like he usually does?" Angela asked, confused.

"Because the suspect has diplomatic immunity," Booth grumbled as Brennan placed the cell phone on the table after turning on the loud speaker.

"I get it. I have something for you, though, something you might like," Angela teased.

Both and Brennan looked at each other, waiting. "Spill it, Angela," Booth said impatiently when the artist remained silent for more than a second.

"Way to ruin a dramatic moment there, Booth," she complained. "We found part of what I guess was once a letter in her left hand. She must have had it in her hand when she was buried. All I could read was the signature saying, 'Yours, Mia.' The rest is written in Arabic, so I have no idea what it says," the artist explained.

"Can you send us a picture of it?" Booth asked.

"I already did; check Brennan's email. I'll get started on the old crime scene photos next. Something tells me that there's something not quite right with them," she said.

"What do you mean?" Booth asked.

"It's just…I can't really put my finger on it. The pictures are so blurry, but cameras weren't that bad 13 years ago," she said carefully.

"In Morocco?" Booth asked sarcastically.

"Not even in Morocco, Booth. It looks like whoever took these pictures didn't want anyone to see what was in them," Angela replied.

"Maybe that someone paid enough money to the Moroccan government to achieve just that. I'm curious what you'll find out," Booth said.

"Bye, you two. Oh, and Brennan? That picture you sent me? That girl was a beauty!" Angela said before hanging up.

'Yeah, a beauty most likely killed by her own father and tossed in a hole somewhere," Booth muttered, taking another French fry.

**4:02 p.m. Friday, Saudi Arabian Embassy, Avenue Imam Malik, Souissi, Rabat**

"Prince Karim, if we were in America, I would arrest you for the murder of Katherine Meyers right now," Booth told the man as he entered the salon.

"Agent Booth, what are you talking about?" the prince asked, slightly amused, as he sat down.

"We know you were in the American Embassy the day Katherine Meyers died," Booth said.

"That might be true, I can't remember. If you say it is so, then I believe you."

"You said you didn't work with the American Embassy anymore," Brennan reminded him as his wife entered the room.

"Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan, have you found something new?" she asked. Her tone was friendly and she greeted Brennan with bisous.

"Agent Booth here wishes to arrest me," the prince explained. "Fortunately, I have diplomatic immunity. He can do nothing."

"What? Why? What happened?" she asked, clearly shocked. She sat down next to her husband.

"Why don't you tell us what happened that night?" Booth asked the prince.

"I don't know. You said I was at the American Embassy, so I must have had a meeting," he replied.

"At 8:34 p.m.? When the embassy was closed?" Booth said doubtfully. "Where did you get the keycard?"

"I really don't know what you are talking about," the prince replied, stroking his hair nervously with one hand. "Amina, why don't you go upstairs and rest? It's been a long day for you. I will be able to handle this," he said, turning suddenly to his wife.

She nodded slowly and stood up to leave the room. "I have had this key for a long time. Stephen gave it to me back when they were still here," the prince explained once Amina had left the room.

"The embassy didn't have keycards 13 years ago. They just install them last year," Brennan countered.

"Why did you kill Katherine Meyers and your daughter?" Booth asked.

"I did not kill my daughter!" the prince yelled, springing up from his chair. "How can you say something like this? Do you have any idea what we have been going through for 13 years? My wife is on antidepressants because she has tried to kill herself twice and I haven't slept through the night since the day my daughter disappeared," he insisted, stabbing a finger in Booth's direction. "Don't you dare accuse me of killing my little girl!"

Booth probed further. "What about Katherine Meyers?" he asked. "If she didn't remember you killing your own daughter, then why? Why did you drug her with your wife's pills and then shove her down the stairs?"

Brennan knew that he was only trying to get to the truth, but she still felt sorry for the prince. She just did not believe that he killed anyone.

"I didn't kill anyone," he insisted.

"Was it an accident? You didn't mean to push her so hard?" Brennan asked, trying a different scenario.

"I haven't seen Mia in 13 years and if I had, I would have asked her, begged her, to help us find our daughter. I wouldn't kill her," the prince replied, his tone cold and even.

"He didn't kill her," a voice said from the doorway. Amina once again entered the room.

"Amina, you should be resting," her husband said, but she waved him off and handed Booth some photos.

"For the last three years, my husband has been having an affair with a woman at the embassy. She gave him the key," she explained quietly and sat down next to Brennan.

"You knew?" her husband asked, his eyes wide with shock.

"Of course I knew, the whole embassy is talking about it behind your back! I hired a private investigator a year ago and he took those pictures of them. My husband may not be faithful to me, but he would never kill anyone. I think the lady will tell you that he was with her that night," she explained, avoiding her husband's stare.

"I guess I won't arrest you after all," Booth said. "But why didn't you just tell us?"

"Tell you what, that I've been unfaithful to my wife because she has been shutting me out for the last 13 years? Losing Rana destroyed her and finding out that I had been unfaithful…" He shook his head and looked down at his hands.

"Maybe you should have thought about that before initiating an extramarital affair," Brennan told him, glancing over at his wife. She just stared at the pictures of her husband and his mistress.

"Princess, are you okay?" Booth asked when he, too, noticed her staring.

"Why do you have that picture here?" she asked, pointing to the picture of Katherine Meyers that Booth had thrown on the table while he was questioning her husband.

"That's a picture of the victim," he replied, eyeing her curiously.

"That isn't Mia. That's Hope," the princess insisted as she picked up the picture.

"Hope?" Booth and Brennan said in unison.

"Yes, we were both members of the same yoga center. We met there about a year ago and started talking. She was nice, kind; I liked her. We sometimes met for tea or she came here and we would have coffee together," she explained.

"I'm sorry, but that's Mia Kellerman after several plastic surgeries and about ten years," Brennan said. She could see the shock on the woman's face.

"That was Mia? But how…why…why didn't she say something? Oh my God, I didn't recognize her. I should have; I should have recognized her. She was my best friend and I didn't recognize her," the princess stammered as tears began to flow down her face.

"It's normal after such extensive plastic surgery that you wouldn't recognize her," Brennan assured her as her husband hurried to her side, only to be rebuffed.

"She was here the day she disappeared," the princess said.

"How do you know it was the exact day?" Booth asked curiously.

The prince answered for his wife. "You said she disappeared March 30th. That was my daughter's eighteenth birthday."

"Birthdays are always the worst and I was glad when hope, Mia, stopped by that day," Amina explained. "She came here around eleven, complaining about the heat as she had walked here. She asked me to go to the club with her, to get me out of the house, but I just couldn't go. I didn't feel up to it. I told her about Rana that day, showed her her room, and told her stories about her. We prayed around noon and she just wouldn't leave; she said she couldn't stand seeing me like this. I slept for a while and when I woke up, she was still there. She left shortly before Karim came home, around seven. She told me that she was leaving for a long vacation the next day but that she would write and send me postcards. I never got anything, but I figured she was just busy," she finished.

"What did you know about Hope; what did she tell you about her life?" Booth asked, noticing that the prince was holding his wife's hand.

"She said she worked as a consultant for a beauty company and that she wasn't married, though she had one daughter who lived in the States. She lived somewhere out in Hay Riad, or at least that's what she told me," she replied, then shook her head. "I can't believe she was Mia; she was so different," she murmured.

"Different how?" Booth wanted to know.

"Mia was self-confident, blunt, and open. She was always surprising. One second she would laugh out loud and be the happiest woman ever; the next she would cry as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. Sometimes it drove me crazy. Hope was…guarded, quiet. She always seemed a million miles away and I sometimes wondered how she could be a consultant, as quiet and gentle as she was."

"Do you have any more questions, Agent Booth? I think my wife needs some rest and some time to deal with this new information. To be honest, I do, too," the prince said, rising and placing a hand on his wife's shoulders.

"No, I think we are done for today. Thank you for your help," Booth said and he and Brennan left the house.

"Now we have a woman with three identities; how many more did she have?" Brennan asked when they were back in the car and on their way back to the hotel.

"I think three was it," Booth replied.

Brennan could see he had a feeling about the case now. "Have you put the pieces together yet?"

"Not all of them, not yet. I still have a few questions," he replied.

"Like?"

"Like why did she begin seeking out old friends after she'd gone to so much trouble to create a new identity? She knew full well that they could recognize her," he said, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. He was quiet for a moment and stared out the window before he turned back to Brennan. "What I don't understand is why she took a third identity. Why wasn't she just introducing herself as Katherine Meyers?"

**6:48 p.m. Friday, Hilton Hotel, Souissi, Rabat**

"I still can't believe that he's been having an affair for the last three years and even saw that woman on his daughter's birthday," Brennan said through the open bathroom door. She was sitting on Booth's bed while he was in the bathroom styling his hair in front of the huge mirror. She watched him fixing his hair, tucking a strand in here and one there with an east that came from years of practice. While she usually just put her hair in a sloppy ponytail, Booth's hair was always perfect. Sometimes she had the urge to just run her fingers through it and ruffle it up.

"It's not our place to judge him," Booth replied, closing the tube of gel.

"First she loses her daughter and then her husband betrays her when she needs him the most," Brennan continued as Booth switched off the light in the bathroom and walked into the bedroom. "This is why I don't trust people, especially men," she said as he stopped in front of her.

"That's not true. You trust Angela," he pointed out.

"She's female," Brennan shrugged.

"And you trust me, or at least I think you do," he went on, slipping on his shoes.

She waited until he was at her eye level, tying his shoes, to look at him. "Of course I trust you," she said.

"I'm a man," he pointed out, looking her straight in the eyes.

"You're my partner," she replied quietly. "I trust you."

"Good," he said, nodding slowly, unable to tear his eyes away from hers. He felt a panic rising inside of him as their faces drew closer and closer. _The line, don't cross the line_, he heard himself screaming on the inside, but he couldn't stop. He softly pressed his lips to hers. He felt her arms snake around his neck and pull him tentatively closer to her. He could taste her and smell her and the soft kiss clouded his mind. He wanted more and opened his mouth, placing one hand on the small of her back as he leaned against the mattress with the other, trying to keep himself from falling onto her. He slowly opened his eyes and as he gazed into her baby blues, the immensity of what he had just done dawned on him. He pulled away from her and her dazed eyes and stood straight up. Flustered, he looked around the room, not knowing if he should apologize or lean back down and kiss her senseless.

"We should go to dinner now," she said haltingly a moment later as she hurried past him out of the room. All he could do now was follow her and hope that she really did trust him, more than he trusted himself.

**TBC**


	7. The girl who got a face

I am kind of sad to announce that this is the last chapter of this story. I hope you like it, I hope you review and I hope you'll read my other stuff as well. Take care!

* * *

**Chapter 6: The Girl Who Got a Face**

**8:07 p.m., Hilton Hotel, Souissi, Rabat**

"Well, here we are. Sleep well, Bones," Booth said as they arrived at her door after an extremely awkward dinner. He was nervously swaying back and forth on the balls of his feet, hands buried in the pockets of his slacks. They had hardly talked during dinner, only exchanging a comment here and there about the food. Temperance had seemed a million miles away and had obviously been contemplating the situation in her own quiet way as they ate. He had thought about apologizing, but then again, he wasn't really sorry for the kiss. It had been a long time coming for him and he only had so much self-control. He had managed to keep his hands and his lips off her for four years now, but today he had allowed himself to relax for just a second, reassured by her confessions of trust, and had ruined everything. If only he knew what she was thinking, then he would be better able to deal. With Temperance Brennan one never knew; she was a constant surprise. It was possible that she would knock him out once she had come to a conclusion. He could end their partnership or just ignore what had happened altogether.

When she didn't reply, just stood in front of her door staring at her feet, he decided that she must need more time and just wasn't ready to talk about it yet. He turned around and headed for his own room, which was just next door.

I want to have sex with you," she blurted out as he reached his door.

"What?" he said, dumfounded. He whirled on her and stared, not sure he had heard her correctly.

"We are partners and you kissed me today, so I assume that you want a physical relationship with me as well as a partnership. I've thought about this long and hard and I concur. We should copulate," she explained in her usual scientific manner as he slowly walked toward her.

He took a deep breath and opened his mouth so say something, but then thought better of it and remained silent. "I just need a moment here," he finally managed, staring at the ground.

"That is understandable. I'll work on my book a bit while you think about it. Just let me know when you're ready," she said. It was as if she was talking about going out for ice cream.

"Wait," he said, grabbing her arm as she unlocked the door with her keycard. "I don't want to…I won't…I want to make love with you," he finally told her, though she was still facing away from him.

Slowly she turned around and looked at him, let him see the insecurity in her eyes. "I know nothing about that," she admitted timidly.

"Let me show you," he replied, stepping closer and placing one hand on her waist as he caressed her cheek with the other.

"Okay," she replied quietly. She pressed her lips softly to his before leading him into her room and closing the door behind them.

**1:29 a.m. Saturday, Hilton Hotel, Souissi, Rabat**

"Mmm, wat is that?" Booth asked sleepily, his face buried in Brennan's neck. A thin sheet covered them as they spooned. His arms were slung around her waist, his fingers interlaced with hers.

"My cell phone, it's the lab," she answered, reaching over to the nightstand to grab her phone before she snuggled back into his embrace.

"How do you know it's the lab?" he asked against her neck.

"Because I have a different ringtone for each number in my phonebook," she replied as she answered the call.

"Hi, Sweetie, it's me. Sorry to wake you, but I just had to give you one last update before we're off for the weekend," Angela said as Brennan slowly sat up.

"It's okay, I wasn't sleeping anyway," she replied. Booth shot her a look, warning her not to say anything. She just shrugged as he slowly got up, mouthing the word _bathroom_. "So, what have you got?" she asked Angela while watching her lover climb out of bed and slip into his boxers before walking into the bathroom.

"I found something really interesting; I bet Booth's gonna freak. Could you turn on your laptop?" she asked.

"Sure, just give me a minute," Brennan replied and hung up. She looked around the room at several items of clothing thrown haphazardly on the floor. Without thinking, she picked up Booth's white dress shirt and slipped it on before she booted up her laptop.

"Are you wearing Booth's shirt?" Angela asked when she saw her friend standing barefoot in nothing but an oversized dress shirt.

"Yes," Brennan answered truthfully. She hoped she wasn't blushing.

"Okay, I'm not even going to say anything this time. Every other time I thought I busted you it turned out to be a false alarm, so I'll just get straight to the case this time so I won't have to listen to your asexual explanation of why you're wearing his shirt. Let a girl dream," the artist sighed.

Brennan laughed. "Okay, I can live with that," she said, waiting for her friend to tell he what she had found.

"What did they wa…" Booth asked as he emerged from the bathroom, still in his boxers. He came to a stop right in front of the webcam on Brennan's laptop.

"Oh my God! Oh my God! There is no way I am going to believe that you two didn't have sex!" Angela laughed, bouncing up and down in front of the camera.

"That would be a false assumption indeed," Temperance replied, causing her friend to lose what little of her composure she'd managed to retain.

"Has she lost her mind?" Booth asked softly as he hid his exposed body behind his girlfriend's.

"I don't know," she replied, watching her friend's little victory dance. "It's possible."

"Look at you two! You're soooo cute!" Angela gushed once she had calmed down a bit.

"I am not cute," Booth muttered and Temperance had to smile at that. "Was there a reason you called?" he asked louder then.

"Oh, right," Angela said and sobered quickly. "I cleaned up those pictures of the crime scene, if you want to call it that. There are neither bullet holes nor any traces of violent entry, other than a broken glass door, which doesn't make any sense, by the way, because the door would have been unlocked. I ran a check on the fluid on the floor and it's way too light in color to be blood that had been there for several hours. Also, the floor was concrete and the blood hadn't entered it when the pictures were taken, which means that if it really was blood, they must have taken the pictures five or ten minutes at the latest after the attack. There are approximately nine to ten liters of fluid there. I don't think I need to mention that one human doesn't have that much blood," she explained.

"So the whole crime scene was faked," Booth concluded.

"Yes, and so were the pictures of Stephen Kellerman's injuries. The injuries in the picture aren't from being beaten and getting stitched back up," Angela said as she showed them the picture, now clear.

"Those aren't injuries. He had plastic surgery and these are the post-op pictures. The bruises, the stitches. New nose, new chin?" Brennan said, squinting at the picture before Booth pulled her back up by her waist so that she was once again hiding him from view.

"And some corrections to his cheekbones and eyelids," Angela nodded with a wide grin.

"Great work, Angela. Thanks," Booth said as he ended the connection abruptly.

"Hey, we weren't done yet," Brennan complained, turning around.

"Oh, yes, we were. She was leering at me," he complained, pulling her closer.

"She has Hodgins," Brennan replied, giggling as he nibbled at her earlobe.

"I don't wanna talk about Hodgins. Come on, let's get back to bed," he said, covering her neck in sloppy wet kisses.

"What about the new results? We should discuss them," she protested unconvincingly as she tilted her head to the side.

"Tomorrow. Right now I want to give you another lesson in making love," he whispered in her ear before he claimed her lips with his own.

"Okay, I'm ready," she mumbled between kisses as she let him lead her back to bed.

**11:26 a.m., Rue des Princess, Souissi, Rabat**

"So, we don't confront him with the photos yet, we just show him the note we found?" Bones asked as they strode up to the gate leading to the general's house.

"As long as I can't fit all the pieces of this puzzle together in a way that makes sense, I want him to think he's safe. I put pressure on him once already and he still lied pretty convincingly, so we need a new approach. We just ask him about the note, show him that we are still investigating, and look for other clues in the meantime," Booth explained and rang the doorbell. A screen immediately flickered on and a security camera zoomed in on them.

"Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan. Could we please speak to General Meyers/" he asked and waited for a minute until the door opened.

"Good morning, Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan. I didn't expect you to be working on the weekend as well," the general greeted them and led them into the living room.

"We won't work the whole weekend," Booth replied amicably. "We planned to do some sight-seeing, but first we had a quick question."

"Have you visited the Tour Hassan? It's the biggest minaret in the world. Or you could drive to Casablanca; it's only an hour from here and definitely worth seeing," Meyers said, leaning back against the couch.

"We should definitely do that. Thanks for the advice," Booth replied with a smile.

"Mr. Meyers, we found this with your wife's remains. Could you tell us what it means?" Temperance interrupted. She showed him an enlarged copy of the letter.

"I am sorry, but I don't read Arabic. My wife and my daughter can read and write it well, but not me," the general shrugged, handing the paper back.

"Is your daughter here? Maybe she could translate it for us," Booth suggested.

The general could see he had no other choice, that they weren't leaving till they found out what was in that letter. "Yes, Candace is here. Just a minute; I'll get her," he said, leaving the room.

"He's lived in Morocco for years and can't speak the language?" Brennan asked, incredulous. She locked eyes with Booth and for a moment, they lost themselves.

The general returned then with a teenage girl. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore tight jeans and heavy makeup that accented her blue eyes. She gave Booth and Brennan a friendly smile as her father introduced her. "This is my daughter, Candace. Candi, this is Agent Booth from the FBI and his partner, Dr. Brennan. They've been investigating your mother's murder."

"Hello, nice to meet you. I hope you find whoever did this to Kat," the girl said as she shook hands with them.

"Could you translate this for us?" Temperance asked, handing her the paper.

"Sure," the teenager shrugged, quickly scanning the note. "It says, 'I am so sorry. Forgive me,'" she said and handed the paper back to Temperance.

"Thank you; you've been a big help," Booth said and stood up. "We'll catch whoever did this to your mother."

**11:48 a.m. Saturday, Avenue Mehdi ben Barka, between Souissi and Hay Riad, Rabat**

"The internet is working again," Brennan said, fiddling with her notebook in the car.

"Anything new? Maybe something that will help us to make sense of this note?" Booth asked distractedly as he wrapped strands of her hair around his fingers.

"Not really. Angela sent the reconstruction for the princess," she said, opening the picture the artist had drawn of the eighteen-year-old Rana.

"Pretty," Booth said without really looking at the picture. He pulled Brennan toward him, burying his face in her neck and teasing her earlobe with his tongue. "But not as pretty as you," he added, letting out a breath when she pushed him roughly aside.

"Booth, stop," she insisted, closing the picture with a strange look on her face and opening the folder of X-rays she had on her PC.

"What are you doing? It's the weekend, Bones," he protested, rubbing the side where she had pushed him away. She stopped when she found an X-ray of the victim's pelvis and squinted at it before opening another folder with pictures of the crime scene, again stopping at the picture of the pelvis. She zoomed in and her eyes widened.

"Booth, look at this," she said, tapping him lightly on the shoulder.

"I've seen this before, I've been at the crime scene," he said, still slightly offended that she had pushed him away.

"Look at the iliac," she instructed, pointing to a bone on the picture she had enlarged.

"Just tell me in English what I am supposed to see, Bones," he replied.

"There is nothing there," she said, looking again.

"So I'm looking for nothing," he said, staring at the picture.

"No. I mean yes," she said, getting excited. "What I mean is that there is no sulcus on the iliac. This woman has never given birth, Booth," she said as she opened the picture of the eighteen-year-old girl again. "Now imagine this girl with brown hair instead of black and picture her in heavy makeup," she said, watching him expectantly.

"Oh my God," he said, shocked, when he saw what she meant. He banged on the window. "Hassan, take us back to the general's house. I have an arrest to make," he said before he leaned back in the seat and pulled Temperance close to his side.

**12:05 p.m. Saturday, Avenue des Princess, Souissi, Rabat**

"You don't understand. What kind of life would she have had with all those rules? She wouldn't even be allowed to choose her own husband. We simply did what was best for Rana," Meyers insisted as Booth handcuffed him.

"You told me my parents were dead. You lied to me," the girl sobbed.

"We only wanted what was best for you," Meyers told her desperately.

"I cried myself to sleep for years because I missed my parents. That's what was best for me?" she yelled at the man who had raised her for the past 13 years, the man who had taken her away from her parents.

"Killing your wife is what's best for her?" Booth asked and jerked a bit on the handcuffs, making the man groan in pain.

"I didn't want to kill her, it was an accident," he insisted, close to tears now. "She came to me that night and told me that she had met Amina again and that Amina hadn't recognized her. She said she couldn't stand all the lies anymore, that Amina was so sad and fragile. She wanted to tell her that we took Rana. She had written a letter to her, apologizing to her, telling her where to find us. I tried to take the letter from her but she wouldn't give it to me. She said that she saw Karim enter the embassy and that she was going to give him the letter right then. We argued and she stormed out of my office through the back door. I reached her in front of the stairs and ordered her to give me the letter. She turned to look at me and refused once again, said she needed to do this because she couldn't live with it anymore. I got so angry. It had been her idea to take Rana in the first place. Her father was the one who set up the crime scene and bribed the cop who took the pictures. And now she wanted to destroy everything and give our girl away? I pushed her. I didn't mean to push her so hard. She fell down the stairs and didn't get up. I hurried down the stairs and saw all the blood and I knew she was dead. I panicked; I took her out in the garden, but I didn't know what to do. I finally buried her beside the rosebushes she loved so much and then cleaned up the stairs. How could I know they would decide to construct a new office building right there?" he wept as Booth handed him over to his Moroccan colleague. They would keep him until he could be sent back to the United States for trial.

**3:49 p.m. Saturday, Avenue Imam Malik, Saudi Arabian Embassy, Souissi, Rabat**

"We have news," Booth said to the prince as they met with him and his wife in their garden. They were sitting out in the shade drinking tea and talking.

"You found the murderer?" the prince asked.

"Yes, we found the murderer. And we have something for you," Booth smiled.

Brennan handed the princess a roll of paper tied with red ribbon. "A picture of our daughter," the princess said, taking the picture. Her eyes shone with happiness, but instead of opening it, she just stared at the roll of paper.

"Yes, but it's not 100 percent accurate," Booth said with a small smile as the royals looked up at him with wide eyes.

"We found your daughter," Brennan explained a moment later. She felt Booth take her hand and lace his fingers through hers.

"She's waiting outside by the car. She's alive," Booth added, giving them a moment to digest the news. A moment later Amina sprang from her chair. She darted through the garden, around the side of the house, and out to the driveway. Her husband followed cautiously, with Booth and Brennan a few moments behind him. They found the girl enveloped in her parents' arms as they approached the car. They hung back a while, watching. Booth wrapped his arm around Brennan's waist and smiled at the picture before them.

"They think everything will be all right now," Brennan said softly.

"Maybe it will be," he replied, smiling down at her.

"It will take a lot of effort to make it work," she said, looking him in the eyes.

He didn't miss her meaning. "I think it'll be worth it in the end," he replied and kissed her softly before walking toward the reunited family to say goodbye. They still had some sightseeing to do and some more lessons to learn.

**The End**


End file.
